


Better Shoot on Sight

by Cecile



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, Military, Secret Agent Stiles, soldier Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-17 12:08:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cecile/pseuds/Cecile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles's journey to becoming a secret agent.</p>
<p>Originally published as chapter 1: "Better shoot on sight" of my fanfic <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/644601/chapters/1170523">You're much better looking when you're in disguise</a> which I've now remodeled and therefore rewritten that chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Shoot on Sight

**Author's Note:**

> This is an outtake of my fanfic [You're much better looking when you're in disguise](http://archiveofourown.org/works/644601/chapters/1170523). It's how the first chapter after the prologue was originally published, but now that I've taken that abandoned fic on as my CampNaNoWriMo project, I've decided to rewrite that chapter. But I didn't want this lost somewhere, so I decided reposting it here instead :)  
> A few parts of this are in what's counted as the new chapter 3 in that fic, if you wanna still read it!

When Stiles finished High School, he wanted nothing more than to get as far away as possible from the supernatural crap that had infested Beacon Hills, so he went to college in New York, on the other side of the country. Still, the distance couldn't prevent the nightmares and that frequented his dreams in the big city. He went home over Christmas break of his Freshman year because he had promised his father, but that only resulted in a panic attack so strong that it landed him in the hospital. That night, Stiles promised himself he would never return to Beacon Hills until the Sheriff's death.

So that's what he did.

He had a nice little apartment in New York City and finished his college education. His dad visited a couple of times a year and told him to come home, that his friends missed him, but Stiles wouldn't budge. He had never told the Sheriff about werewolves and even now, now that he was trying to rid himself from that part of his life, he didn't want him to know. So if he went back home and Dad witnessed the panic attacks, he'd probably think he was the one inducing them and Stiles couldn't risk thoughts like that.

Scott once tried to kidnap him and take a road trip with him back to Beacon Hills. They got exactly to the border of Colorado and Utah before Stiles had a nervous breakdown and stabbed the tires and cut random wires connecting to the motor of Scott's car so they couldn't go any further. Stiles ended up having to pay for the repairs but at least he could go back to New York.

When Stiles was twenty-one, during his junior year of college, Stiles almost got stabbed. He was on his way home from a date – just some random girl, nothing serious – and took a shortcut through a dark alley when some random dude with a knife came onto him and threatened him.

Okay, Stiles was just gonna be real here, he knew it was entirely his own fault for going through a dark alleyway in freaking _New York City_ , but he'd rather do that and climb back into his flat through the fire exit than having to pass the doorman that always guarded his apartment complex at night - Stiles had somehow become that guy's personal enemy within his first week of living there, the guy had this attitude about him that said “I'm gonna kill you as soon as I get the chance” that reminded Stiles of a certain person back home in Beacon Hills; and he really didn't want to think about that.

Luckily, Stiles had gotten into shape; running in the mornings and going to the gym once a week had built up his muscles, plus he had – for some inexplicable reason – maintained the reflexes that he had developed during the last half of his High School career. So as soon as the hairs stood up on his neck, Stiles turned around and punched the guy in his face. That resulted in the knife only grazing Stiles's side instead of stabbing his guts through his back

Adrenaline flushed through his body as he knocked the guy unconscious almost immediately and Stiles noted for future reference to use less force, the guy was only human and he didn't want to kill him. One death upon his hands was far more than enough.

Stiles collected the knife from the ground and put it in one of his pockets before making a run for his apartment, the gash in his side neglected until he was in his bathroom, in front of the mirror.

Almost automatically, Stiles patched himself up while his thoughts ran wild. The rush he had gotten out of that situation was incredible and he almost felt like he was sixteen again and taking a time-out in the middle of a battle against some witch or demon or whatever to nurse away his fragility.

Stiles couldn't help but realize that he had missed this buzz all this time. God, he had lived for that during his High School life, not sleeping for days and only running on energy drinks and adrenaline.

Now that he had experienced it once again, able to enjoy the beauty of it without the supernatural shit around it, there was no way Stiles was letting this get away.

The problem was just that there was no way he was going to come across many potentially dangerous situations as a computer science major – the worst-case scenario there was spraining his wrist while typing.

So Stiles did a bit of research and he soon knew what he was going to be: a secret agent for the CIA. It was the perfect job: dangerous, adrenaline-kick-inducing missions, handling weapons, hand-to-hand-combat and anything else that would make a normal person run the other way but was, at the same time, perfectly mundane. No werewolves, hunters or kanimas – and if there were, he at least wouldn't know it. Stiles knew that it'd be hard to get a job position, but in that moment he knew he was going to make it, or die trying (but he seriously hoped it would be the first). And he bet he could make some good use of his major there from time to time, when he was hacking in security systems instead of shooting a bad guy.

And yes, Stiles knew that those were very unrealistic visions of the job of a secret agent, but in a trace of his ADHD he had read up on almost everything the internet had on the topic of his (hopefully) future job and he was sure he was prepared. At least emotionally. Heck, nothing could be worse than that last werewolf-pack-plus-Stiles against the universe (or so it seemed) war in February of his High School senior year that made him draw his final decision of leaving his hometown.

 

A year and a half later, Stiles had his Bachelor's diploma, was done with college and still interested in becoming a secret agent. He had 'accidentally' come across a few more dangerous situations here and there – try lurking in a New York alley for one night, there's all kinds of creepy and shady stuff going on – just to get an adrenaline kick once again.

Now, the first part of becoming a secret government official was gaining some military experience. He knew it wasn't going to be much harder than teaming up with Chris Argent and the hunters had been, especially after Victoria Argent's death. To be honest, the hardest part was breaking it to his father.

_Yo dad, I'm gonna become a secret agent which means I'm going to the military for six years_ wasn't going to cut it, though, particularly because even Stiles knew that then it wasn't going to be secret anymore for long (somehow, that kind of gossip went around the police station rather quickly, and if Mrs. Rosely, the secretary, knew about it, the whole town knew about it).

In the end, Stiles told his Dad over the phone and, god, he was so damn happy when he only reached the home voice mail. He said that he didn't know yet who he really was, what he was going to do with his diploma and that he would go to the military to find out who he really was. He didn't hear back from his father – that partially had to do with the fact that boot camp started two weeks later – but he was strangely okay with that.

 

The military was hard, but really not as hard as he'd expected – or wanted? No, Stiles didn't dare to think that that was what it was – it to be. Many nights, his comrades would fall into bed exhaustedly and then fall asleep just as quickly, but Stiles often lay awake and couldn't help but compare life in the barracks to life in supernatural Beacon Hills. It was strangely alike: strict rules you had to follow that were set up by some random dude who seemed to be arbitrarily put in his position, chaos if you didn't and a new (– in case of the military – mock) battle every week. The only thing that was distinguishing the wolf pack and the evil encounters Stiles has made in California from boot camp was that, from time to time, somebody actually appreciated it and complimented Stiles for it when he did something helpful.

After four years and six furloughs that he spent in New York with his Dad and/or Scott constantly by his side Stiles had secured himself a place at the instructional boot camp that took two years and would make him a secret agent.

For that part of his training, he was stationed in a rather secret military base in Kosovo and taught all the important 'tips and tricks' he would hopefully never need, like how to kill someone with a single touch to his neck.

Everything went as planned, but one day, towards the end of his schooling, there must have been a loophole in the security of the camp because enemy troops (or terrorists, Stiles didn't really care at that point, and didn't care enough after to ask about it) attacked the camp, trying to assassinate as many soldiers as possible.

He had been in one of the buildings when he heard the battle noises that came close to chaos. For a moment there, once again, he felt like he was sixteen. Instead of the enemy, it could be witches and his comrades could easily be switched out for _C-Arg and the boyz_ , as Stiles had always called the hunters in secret just to put a small smile on Derek's face.

Derek. He hadn't thought about the man in years. _Have you? Have you really?_ , a small voice in Stiles's mind shouted at him. _Or have you always just pushed those thoughts down whenever they came up?_

Even if that were true, that was not the time to think about that, so Stiles took a deep breath and grabbed a gun, stepping out of the building and firing against everything and everyone that could be potentially dangerous and that wasn't one of his own men.

In a quick glance around he saw that he was nearly the only one of his teammates who was armed with guns, apparently caught by surprise. After a few minutes of fire and ball bushing rattling as it hit the ground, the chaos was over. There were five bodies lying dead on the ground, but none were his men (no friendly fire, that was a plus), the rest of the enemy troop ostensibly retreated.

Stiles looked down at the weapon still in his hands, then again at the bodies. He'd been on patrol and even on the active battlefield plenty of times during his deployment in Kosovo, he had had to hurt people often enough, but he had never during his employment in the military had to kill someone.

He vaguely heard his comrades come out from wherever they had hidden (cowards), but all he could see was the picture that flashed across his mind. The picture of a young woman in her early twenties – not much older than Stiles was now –, bloody, with stab wounds and bruises covering her whole body, lying on the ground in unhealthy angles.

Suddenly, a hand was on Stiles's shoulder and the woman vanished. He turned around and saw that it belonged to his boss and training supervisor, he had a rifle strapped on his back, but was obviously too late for all the 'fun'. “Those your first kills, kid?”, he said.

Stiles didn't answer, couldn't answer. He was too caught up in the image his brain had just reminded him of. The instructor considered that as a yes and said. “Nice ones. You're forever going to remember the first kill you had, or in your case: kills.”

But it wasn't. And he didn't.

In fact, a week later, when he flew back to New York, now officially a secret agent for the United States of America, Stiles barely even remembered that event.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, I don't know how to call the guy that's in charge of an overseas military base.  
> Also, my cousin was stationed in Cosovo for 9 months which is why I chose Stiles to be there (cause I know at least a tiny bit about that), but she was there for the German armed forces, so it might be completely different for the American military. Also, all I know about secret agents and military and stuff is what I got from Google and Wikipedia, so please tell me if there's anything that's totally inaccurate and you want me to change.  
> Title: from "You're in the army now" by Status Quo (I know, how original)


End file.
